


Sweet Days (series #3) - Collection #1

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: Series #3:  free fall





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story List:  
> 1\. Another Valentines  
> 2\. Just A quiet Drive  
> 3\. No Words  
> 4\. The Treasure Box  
> 5\. Carnivale  
> 6\. Double Trouble  
> 7\. The Secret Live Of His Towel  
> 8\. Were You?  
> 9\. Heaven Is What You Make It  
> 10\. Clothes Make The Man... Run!  
> Stories are non-linear with possible overlap/repeated themes.

**Another Valentines**

The purchase is in her hand before she can stop herself. The clerk’s eyebrow rise fractionally. Camille runs the face through her memory banks. No. She is sure the woman doesn’t know her – or who the gift might potentially be meant for.

She can’t resist. He is so much fun to wind up. One of these days, she will simply explode with delight at his reactions to her pranks. True, he is coping better these days. She has to really work to get a rise out of him anymore. She is sure this one will be a winner. She can’t wait. The look on his face will be worth every penny.

Later

First, he unwraps the tie. Very sedate. A subtle silver grey with a tiny logo of a rainbow shark at mid-chest. Very understated. Not quite suitable for the office but perhaps during personal outings? She agrees. Not quite suitable for the office as she is sure Dwayne will recognize it immediately.

Unwrapping the second gift, a crazy quilt of rainbow colours falls into his lap, “Why are there sharks?”

“To match the tie, of course.” She sits back and watches.

He puzzles at the bundle for a moment, it holds up. It falls open revealing a lovely pair of cotton boxers covered in rainbow sharks with “Feeding Frenzy” printed on either side of the fly.

He pauses. One moment. Two. He doesn’t say a word. He nods then folds it up and rewraps it in its tissue paper. She is disappointed. Has she misjudged the prank?

He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and presents her with his gift. She takes it a bit shame-faced. Of course, his gift will be thoughtful, tasteful, and a sign of his deep devotion to her. She vows to give up pranks forever.

A familiar rainbow of colour falls into her lap. She picks it up. It unfolds into a silk teddy covered in rainbow sharks with the words ‘It’s Feeding Time!’ emblazoned across the bodice, what there is of it.

He bursts into laughter, “Oh, Camille! If only you could see your face! It was worth every penny!”

She blushes, “I think you’re right. This year’s gifts are for personal outings only. Think we’ll ever get to the point where we exchange polite cards and you give me flowers?”

Taking her hand and both articles of new apparel, he leads her into the bedroom, “God. I hope not.”

END – Another Valentines


	2. Just a Quiet Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught in a torrential downpour with his Sergeant, what's a D.I. to do?

**Just a Quiet Drive**

It’s a rainy day in Paradise. That is to say, it’s 100 degrees with 100% humidity.

He is very glad he’s finally given in to her pleas to change his wardrobe to tropical weights. His old wool suits would be deadly on a day like today. Also, removing his jacket and tie while driving made good sense. He can’t fault her logic on that point either.

What he CAN fault is her intense scrutiny while he drove. She hasn’t taken her eyes off him since they’d set out. Twice he’d started to say something but didn’t. His old response of “What have I done NOW?” is no longer valid. He knows what he’s done. Practically every day for the past three weeks.

Finally, he deadpans, “You know, there IS scenery out your window too.”

She chuckles, “I like the view I’ve got, thanks.” Really, she is too much. All those years, he’d held back because of it. He had firmly believed that she really WAS too much. For him. Punching above his weight. Reaching for the stars. Way above his pay grade. He is amused at how many sayings there are for ‘pathetic little man pining for the goddess’.

He remembers the shock and disbelief at learning she felt the same way. In reverse. For him. That was certainly a night he won’t forget in a hurry. I really should write this all down so I don’t confuse Opportunity and Means for every episode, he muses, then snorts at the idea of a middle-aged man keeping a diary like a love-struck schoolgirl. Glancing at her, he knows that every touch, every word, is engraved on her heart. She is his diary and he loves the book. Pleasant thoughts about removing dust jackets are interrupted by a touch on his hand.

“You’re smiling. Nice thoughts?”

He feels the colour rise in his cheeks. He wonders if he will ever be able to control it. Probably not. Not with her in his life. He didn’t mind too much when they are alone together. She loves to induce it, said it made him look dangerous. He hates when it happens in public. It is embarrassing. Fortunately, she now curbs her inclinations in most situations so as to maintain a modicum of his dignity. Oddly enough, being part of a couple seems to have elevated his social position. Now there was a thought worth pursuing.

Again, his thoughts are interrupted, “I know what you’re thinking,” she sing-songs.

He sighs, “I know you do. No more secrets in my life. Poor me.”

She slides, carefully laying a hand on his thigh, “Poor you? Poor me! These past few weeks have been torture! I understand your ‘never at work’ rule but you do realize we work awfully long hours?”

He shifts uncomfortably, “Camille! Someone might see! Can’t you wait a mere 8 hours?” She notices that he doesn’t remove her hand.

“It’s raining too hard. Visibility is about 20 feet otherwise this short drive wouldn’t be taking so long. No one can see anything.” She smiles. “Mmmm, ‘so long’.”

He blushes again, “Now I know what YOU’RE thinking. Stop it. If we slide off the road, it will be your fault.” Her hand has somehow moved higher. He clears his throat, “You will just have to be patient… ” he gives her a stern look, “… in ALL things.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about sliding off the road. I was never a Girl Scout but I do believe in being prepared.” At his quizzical look, she reaches into the back seat of the Defender and pulls a gym bag into her lap. He watches in quick glances from the road as she draws out pillows and a blanket. He is just going to ask when she pulls out a bottle of wine and 2 glasses and gives him THE LOOK.

He is dumbfounded. As she begins to smile that lazy cat-smile that he knows so well, he begins shaking his head, “No! No way! I’m not stepping one foot out of this vehicle into that downpour. You were supposed to check the weather, by the way.”

Sliding back to his shoulder, she whispers into his ear, “No need to leave the vehicle… and I DID check the weather. Very carefully.”

The Defender swerves despite his best efforts. When he gets it back under control, he gasps, “Are you mad? Not in the truck! Other people drive this thing. I can’t… it isn’t… oh, you’re going to be the death of me. NO! And that’s final.”

She sighs and repacks the bag, “OK. You’re the boss.”

He nods emphatically, “Yes. I am. Not that I like to pull rank on you, especially now that we’re… ”

“As one?” she suggests, “Doing the night dance? Horizontal mambo? Or even the vertical… ”

He practically shouts, “Yes! All right. Enough, please. It’s been hard enough these past few weeks to concentrate during working hours. Please don’t make it any more difficult.”

She places a placating hand on his arm, “I’m sorry. I know I’m bad. You’ve been very patient with me. No one could ask for a better boss. Anyone else would have fired my ass for the shameful way I harass my superior officer.”

He has to laugh then, “Apology accepted. Now please let me drive.”

She acquiesces. He should have suspected something but he is still new in his dealings with a devious woman… especially a devious French woman with a portable bed.

They reach their destination, take statements, collect data, and he solves the case before they leave. Everyone is astounded except her. Nothing he does surprises her anymore. Read people’s minds? Piece of pie. See through walls? Easy as cake. Keep his woman happy? Toujours… and that includes today, buster!

He knows he is in trouble when she casually takes out the pillows and fluffs them up as they pull out of the driveway. The rain is pounding down. He persists for perhaps 5 minutes then has to admit atmospheric defeat. He can’t see beyond the hood of the truck.

Pulling over, he notices with a complete lack of surprise that they are in the wildest, most remote stretch of this little-used road. More of a goat track, really. They haven’t seen another vehicle during the entire drive. He turns off the ignition, props his elbows on the steering wheel, puts his face in his hands and heaves a huge sigh of surrender.

She grins at him, pours the wine, and they toast the clouds. While he waits patiently, she slips over the seat back. He hears rustling then a very familiar snap-click, groans, and hands his glass over. Two neat and concise sliding vaults and he is in the back with her. She tops up their glasses and they regard one another.

“You know, you have to be the most devious, persistent, unrelenting, won’t take ‘no’ for an answer… ”

She watches him empty his glass, takes it, sets both aside well out of the way, “Would you have me any other way?”

He is smiling, slipping out of his shirt, “God, no. I love you just the way you are.”

An hour later, they are watching the storm. The bag had also contained a nice little picnic, her being a good little Scout and all. Stroking her hair, reveling in the warm length of her along his side, he murmurs, “I will never be able to put another suspect into the back of this vehicle without blushing.”

She kisses him. The weather report had said torrential downpours until nightfall. They have all day. “That’s OK. You look most dangerous then. The perps will just think they’re in for a hard time.” She rolls onto him. He looks a bit startled. So soon?  “Whereas I know exactly what a hard time really is!”

Feeling the familiar rush of blood begin to surge, he smiles, “A life sentence. Thank goodness.”

END - Just a Quiet Drive


	3. No Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No dialogue necessary.

**No Words**

It’s early, dawn once more edging into the room to investigate. Curious minds need to know.

He is propped up on one elbow, watching her sleep. As always, he is amazed she is here at all. His wildest dreams and most fervent hopes absolutely paled next to the sheer overwhelming reality of her presence. How had he managed it?

Thinking back, he hates to remember the long years of grey loneliness. He’d fought valiantly, denied it, worked hard to distract himself, but the truth was there every night he looked down at his empty bed and despaired. When? When would he find her? And where? Where was she? And, most puzzling of all, how was he to convince her to take a chance on him?

Reaching out, he touches her shoulder lightly. He remembers how upset he’d been at being uprooted and cast adrift. He knows full well why he was chosen. At the time, it had felt like the basest betrayal. Outcast. Unclean. Pariah. It had hurt like hell. His one hope was to earn his place back by solving the crime and covering himself in small glory.

Smoothing his palm down the long slope of her back, he thinks how his plan had back-fired. What would have been small glory back home was huge glory here. His actions, words, and deeds were seen. He had live witnesses. They had seen NOT a faceless drone in an airless room but a real person displaying his skills. How fortunate the Commissioner had witnessed it. The great man had pulled strings, called in favours, threatened and cajoled, schemed and maneuvered, in short, done everything within his power to capture and corral.

And capture was achieved. But that had just been his body. His mind and heart took a little longer.

Dawn’s light is turning rosy. Her skin is gaining colour.

He rolls towards her, holding himself just off her back, feeling her warmth wash against him. He breathes in her scent. It is different every time. Now, it is just her, all the perfumes worn off during the long night. He smiles, remembering the old saying, ‘Women do not sweat, they perspire.’ Whatever, she smells wonderful, like fresh baked bread. He is suddenly hungry.

He carefully lowers his lips to the nape of her neck, burrowing down through the cascade of dark hair that is his secret joy. He plants a soft kiss there. A promise. A vow.

He stills and something flares deep in his soul. A vow. Yes. It is time.

When she wakes, he is propped up on pillows writing furiously in a notepad. He has a calendar and various papers spread out all around him. Just before she speaks, he drops everything and rolls quickly to lay a finger against her lips. She quirks an eyebrow but does not speak. She listens. Has he heard something? Why the call for silence?

Now he is slipping out of bed. She is about to tell him to put some clothes on before he confronts whatever problem he’s warned her about… but the words die in her throat as he draws her to the side of the bed, sits her up, then does down on one knee.

She watches in dawning wonder as he takes her left hand in his, lays his right hand over it, and his fingers begin to stroke. The strokes tighten and gyre inward until his fingertips are resting on her ring finger, a long pause before he looks up with a question burning huge and bright on his face.

He watches as her face flashes through a myriad of emotions, none negative. When she throws her arms around his neck and almost throttles him, he knows her answer. Her sudden lunge throws them both to the floor and, by god, he almost consummates their agreement right there on the floor boards!

But a gentleman must maintain certain standards. He grins ruefully, shakes his head, and lifts her back onto the bed. Covering her with his body, he gives a dramatic sigh to impress upon her the solemnity of the moment, and that, although he admires her impetuous nature, she must really bear down now and be serious!

Her eyebrows draw down and he gets such a fierce look that he just has to laugh. The laugh chokes off as her hands disappear and she gives him a very clear sign of how she is coming to grips with the situation. Now it is her turn to laugh as she watches a myriad of emotions flash across HIS face as his body begins to condense, draw in upon itself, harden and rev up.

Oh, yes, she knows that look well. In her secret heart, she is sure she is the only one who has ever seen it. The look of male to female. Basic. Primal. Urgent.

And certainly not to be denied.

END – No Words


	4. The Treasure Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making new memories

**The Treasure Box**

Part 1

He waits on his veranda, the sunset bathing him in gold light.

She dashes up the steps and body-slams him into his chair. The wicker creaks alarmingly.

Raining kisses down on his laughing face, she moans, “I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

He captures her roaming hands, smiles, “Thank you for the assurances but, really, Camille, it has only been two days! Surely you can cope for 48 hours on your own?” Continuing to kiss him, struggling to escape his restraining hands, wanting to eat him up with a spoon, she assures him that she can’t! But he insists, “Darling. Darling! Control yourself. Anticipation enhances satiation.”

She takes a deep breath and sits back a bit to let him breath, “Yes, absence does make the heart grow fonder.” He lays out their meal, pours the wine, and tries very hard to ignore the caresses and touches that he endures during the process. _Really, she is SO French!_ His satisfied smile and soft ‘mmm’s belie his feigned indifference. She knows very well the effect she has on him.

They settle back to enjoy the meal amid talk of her trip, the training, office business, and the sundry mundane things that make up the daily life of a working couple. After he clears the table, she relaxes with a fresh glass of wine and bides her time. He never disappoints. Never. She knows in her bones that she will be satisfied in every possible manner… soon… but not TOO soon.

Easing back into his chair, he studies her. She is hungry for him, as always. He can feel the vibes radiating off her. _Soon, my pet, soon. If nothing else, I’ve taught you patience._

She watches him over the rim of her glass. Other than a slight flush on his cheeks and the green flash of his glance, he looks cool as a cucumber, “How do you do it?”

“Do what, love?”

“Hide your feelings. We lost so much time because I never know how you really felt.”

He ponders the question for a moment, “Well, it’s like a treasure box.” She raises both eyebrows in silent question. “Yes, a treasure box. It’s stout and strong, impenetrable. You keep it somewhere private and secure. At the end of the day, when you’re alone, you take it out, open it, and enjoy the secrets hidden inside.”

Intrigued, she leans forward, “What kind of treasures? Memories?”

“Yes. Some of mine are very old, childhood memories. Most are about you.”

She sits up in sudden delight, “Me?” She knows he is going to tell her something important.

Part 2

“Yes, you. That’s how I survived with my faculties intact in our early days. I suffered awfully but I had small precious nuggets stored away to help me cope.”

He dodges her swat neatly. She laughs, “Suffered? You think YOU suffered? Whatever pain and torment you lived through, it was nothing compared to what you put ME through. Oh, you were a very bad man.”

Clearing his throat is bit self-consciously, he murmurs, “Yes. Well. I didn’t know what I was doing. You did. So who is the guiltier party here?”

She has to admit the point. He had been a shy self-conscious man, very unsure of himself, and almost resigned to bachelorhood. She had thrown every trick in her book at him to no avail. If it hadn’t been for that miraculous night…

He recognizes the dreamy look in her eyes, “That’s one of my best memories. That first night. Needed a special box to keep that one in.” Her eyes flash to him. He looks almost wanton in the fading light.

“You are still a very bad man. And I think you are getting worse.”

“And who do I have to thank for that?”

Ignoring the rush of heat on her skin, she says, “I have a memory I want to save right now. Do you remember the evening of your first birthday on the island?”

“You’ll have to be more precise. It was one long reminder that I was a year older and no wiser.”

“We came to your home. You were asleep in your chair. So cute!! Like a little boy all tired out from his big day! We toasted you with champagne on your veranda then quietly left, letting you rest. I wish now I’d done something different.”

Thinking for a moment, she says, “Stand up.” He does. She takes his hand and leads him into the house, settling him into the same chair of her memory. She arranges him just so, head slightly to the left, almost resting on his shoulder. “There. You’re here. Close your eyes. And I’m…” She looks down at him lovingly, still her little boy in many ways. Gently, she lowers herself astride him, slips her hands inside his jacket, strokes his torso, kisses his mouth lingeringly.

“Ah, but if you had done that… the clueless idiot I was then would have awoken in shock and said something completely awful to spoil the mood. Rewrite.”

Part 3

He sits up sharply to face her, “Camille! Are you mad?! Unhand me!”

“Ah. How could I have been blind to such loveliness? OK, rewrite.” She grips him with her thighs, hands continuing to caress, her mouth firmly taking liberties. “And if you had continued protesting, I would have been forced to revert to plan B, which stands for hitting below the belt.”

“Pause! Hmmm. Well, I’m not sure I would have handled that very well.”

“There’s always the handcuffs.”

“OK, that would have definitely given me a heart attack. So, let’s see. I would have given it another try. Resume. ‘Camille, this is completely inappropriate and unethical and’… oh, bollocks… I’ve got nothing. My mind would have gone blank and you would have had your wicked way with me then and there.”

She is gratified to notice he is panting a bit. “Oh, I like this game. I’m wrapping that memory in light blue tissue paper to match the wrappings on your gifts.”

He shakes his head. Now it’s colour-coded? That might be useful. Taking her hand, they went back to the veranda to gather the dishes, delaying the anticipated conclusion of the evening. As they wash up, she asks if he will share a memory with her. He thinks it over, “The dance we didn’t dance for Solly.”

“Really? I don’t remember anything happening then.”

“That’s because it didn’t happen at all and it demands a rewrite.” Laying down the tea towel, he leads her back up the steps, “All right. The music is primal. I can feel it thumping in my chest. Now I realize it was my heart but back then I was…”

“Clueless. Yes, we’ve established that.”

The beloved half-grin rewards her amply. “Yes, we have. Anyway, you finally dragged me out onto the floor. I realized it was dim and anonymous. I suddenly felt this was my chance to hold you in my arms without earning unwanted attention. I put one hand in yours… your hands were like coals on my skin, by the way… then my other hand dropped of its own accord to rest on your lower back but I never actually touched you. The music stopped and I swivelled away like a coward. It’s a sad memory but I had so few to treasure that I’ve keep it all this time.”

“I remember you taking my hand but… OK! Rewrite! Show me!”

He nods and steps up to face her. He takes her hand. Yes, she remembers that. Then she feels his other hand settle on the upper curve of her rump! She stares into his eyes, smoky and amused at her startled look, “Richard!! That is NOT my lower back! You never would have dared!”

Part 4

“No, I never did, but… pause… and rewrite.” He takes her hand, cups her rump, and pulls her in snug. He presses a thigh between hers and whispers, “This is the memory I’ll have from now on, something worth saving.” He begins humming low and sweet. She closes her eyes and she can see them dancing in the dim light of the venue. It WAS a much better memory. It isn’t until he lies her down that she realizes he’s waltzed her right up to the bed. “No edits needed for this next scene,” he murmurs against her lips.

Much Later

They lay nestled together, listening to their breath relax and slow. She bites him gently, savouring their combined taste, “Mmmmmm, you always serve the best desserts.”

He hugs her, “Camille, Camille, where would I be without you?”

“You’d be laying here. Alone. Sad. Depriving me of my heart’s ease and boy toy.”

He laughs, “Oh, that’s a bit of a stretch. I’m nobody’s boy.”

She growls, “No, not a boy, and you’re no toy. You’re a great dark machine that powers on relentlessly with no ‘off’ switch and with huge grinding… “ but he has covered her mouth and they tussle playfully until she is atop him and he is fondling her with slow strokes, “Mmmmmm, you know what I like.”

“I do now. But that hopeless fellow from the past was so thick. I’m glad he’s gone.”

She snuggles down, sighing, “Oh, he wasn’t so bad. I rather liked him… in a puppy dog kind of way. Tell me another.”

“Well, how about the night of the storm?”

“Oh, this sounds good! I almost burst from frustration that night! Please tell me how you remember it.”

“I almost burst too but not from frustration. First of all, my head was killing me. I blame that for not taking advantage of our situation to ‘move things along’ as we Brits like to say.” She um-humed into his chest, giving him flutters. “Secondly, I was terrified by being trapped for the night with you. You were so lovely and I just couldn’t think! Then you rolled over and went to sleep and there went my chances of even getting a kiss. Poor dope, he deserved that night of tortured dreams.”

“Oh, poor baby! Did he really have bad dreams?”

“The worst. He woke up in the dark to find he’d spooned you and his hand was cupping your breast. He had a raging erection and was pretty close to embarrassing himself. And you slept serenely on.”

“Oh, poor poor baby. I wasn’t asleep.”

Part 5 

“What? Why didn’t you say something? We might have saved ourselves months if only he’d known. That’s another memory that demands a rewrite.” So saying, he flips her over, “Let’s see. You were here. He was here. Look at all that cold space between. What a jerk! I’m throwing him out into the storm right now and taking his place! I’ll show him how a man works!” He presses himself into her back, cupping her breasts, hips tight to her rump.

Much to his delight, she begins to struggle and cry out, “Oh, oh, a Bad Man! Richard, help me!” She pummels him, “You let him back in! I can hear him pounding on the door. If he gets back in here, you are in serious trouble! Unhand me, you cad!”

“Oh, my god. I think I’m jealous of myself! You really are a mad woman. But… hark! I hear the sound of breaking glass. I’m about to get a double beating. I’ll be murdered and buried in the woods. You’re tasty but definitely not worth that! I’m scarpering.” He slides off the bed and she has to search for him in the dark, find him, and pull him back down into his place.

“Oh, Richard! A bad man tried to steal my charms. You saved me from a fate worse than death. My hero. How can I ever reward you? Look how wet you are. Let me help you out of those clothes. Let me dry you. Let me warm you… ” Her voice gets lower and lower until it is just a purr.

Stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head, he chuckles, “Really, Camille. No writer, no matter how bad, how unschooled, how drunk, would come up with that dialogue. It’s rubbish. It’s total… mmm… it’s… ah, now that’s not fair… that’s…”

Softly, from out of the darkness of their bed, she whispers, “… that’s a wrap.”

END - The Treasure Box


	5. Carnivale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lent isn't just about giving up the bad habits.

**Carnivale**

Camille drags Richard to a Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper fund-raiser for the local orphanage. While waiting in line, Richard waxes eloquent, “The day before the forty days of Lent: Shrove Tuesday, Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, and Carnival, which dates from the 16th century.”

“Why Fat Tuesday, I wonder?”

“During Lent, the faithful must forego the consumption of fats and fatty foods, including flour, eggs, and sugar… so everyone bulks up on carbs the day before. It’s simple human nature.”

“It’s a good excuse to fill up on pancakes. Yum!”

“Have you ever had the blissful experience of real Canadian maple syrup on your pancakes?”

“No, I never have. Sweet is sweet, after all.”

“I see. So you’ve never tasted dark syrup?”

“Oooh, that sounds like an entirely different conversation! Let’s explore this topic a little further.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter and back on topic, please. Sweet is sweet, is that right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter the source, just the sweet.”

“Hmm, by that logic, I can be replaced in your bed by any man here.”

“What!! There’s no one that can supplant you. Why would you say such a thing? Are you going off me, then?”

“No, dearest, just pointing out that once you’ve found the absolute vertex, nothing else will do. You will taste dark syrup before this year is out and I guarantee that you will never accept another substitute.”

“Do you know any Canadians then?”

“I met a lovely fellow at my last conference, Inspector Fraser of the RCMP. We’ve been keeping in touch. I’ll E-mail him tomorrow.”

They load up their plates and find seats near the back by the windows. Cooler night air washes over them as they enjoy their repast. Richard decides to tease Camille a bit more.

“Do you know where the word ‘carnivale’ comes from?” She rolls her eyes. He smiles, “From the Latin, of course. Dear, you’re going to strain something if you continue doing that. Yes, from the Latin ‘carne vale’.” He pauses but she does not respond, “No? ‘Carne’ for meat or flesh? ‘Vale’ for farewell? The putting away of flesh?”

She continues in her non-response.

He sighs, “It means no meat or flesh. For forty days.”

“Of course. The forty days of Lent. No big deal. It’s just red meat. There’s lots of other foods.”

“Um. Not just red meat. Flesh. All flesh. As in… fleshly delights?”

That gets her attention. She eyes him suspiciously, “Surely not. You’re making that up.”

He crosses his heart and tries to look solemn, “True faith means true sacrifice. What did you give up for Lent, by the way?”

Looking as cross as he’s ever seen her, she growls, “Not THAT! And before you start, you are not taking up Lent for the very first time tomorrow!” He holds up a finger and starts to speak but she pushes his hand back down and hisses, “No!! Don’t even try to tease me about it. I would die! I would shrivel up and expire. You don’t want my death to be on your hands, do you? You would be a murderer! Think of the scandal!”

“Death by abstinence? Sounds like a cracking good read! And I’m just the man to write it! I’ve had so much practice…” sees the dangerous look in her eye, relents, “… but, of course, not lately.”

Camille strides off to get beverages. Imagine! The silly man expecting her to give up the silly man! Incroyable!! His sense of humour can be so annoying! Returning, she watches him sigh and enjoy his cuppa. A thought…

“Richard,” she coos, “… if I have to give up my one joy in life then you must give up yours. No Richard for me, no tea for you.” That rattles him! _Hah, Mr. Pants-smarty!_

“Steady on, Camille! You can’t deny me my one reason for living! After all… tea!!”

“Then we will both suffer abominably and die a terrible death. The only question is… who will die first?”

“I shall. I know it. Forty days without tea is unthinkable!”

“What if we trade?” He gestures for her to continue, “One cup of tea in return for your services.”

“ONE cup? It takes me TWO cups just to recover! What say we drop the whole subject and forego Lent all together?”

They gather up their clutter and drop it into the waiting bins.  

Walking out, arm in arm, he laughs, “Give up tea! The very idea! You have a real cruel streak.”

“Hmm, perhaps. And, darling? Don’t forget to order that dark syrup. I think my appetite for sweet things may be taking a turn for the worst.”

END - Carnivale


	6. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If one is great, would two be better?

**Double Trouble**

“Hey! Did anyone see this?” Dwayne says, straightening up at the break table. He passes the newspaper over to Fidel, who reads, then passes it to Camille. Her eyes run down the black type. She hands the paper back to Dwayne.

“Pet cloning. So? Doesn’t sound like a crime to me.”

Dwayne leans forward, lowers his voice, “Not pets… “ and he slides his eyes sideways to the other end of the station. Two more pairs of eyes follow his prompt, stare, return to Dwayne.

“No…” breathed Fidel, “Surely the science isn’t advanced enough!”

Dwayne shakes his head, “If THEY allow news to leak out, you can bet they’ve been workin’ on it for years already. This is just the tip of the iceberg.” Together, the two men turn back to regard the Chief.

Fidel broke the silence first, “Wow. I can’t imagine. Two of him? Three? More? Would they all be police officers, do you think?”

“Dunno. If they are, we’ll be out of our jobs double quick. Do clones only look alike? Or are they the same inside, too? How do you copy the inner man?”

“Yes! I remember a movie! A secret project that cloned Hitler. They placed the babies with couples of the same age and profession as Hitler’s then they murdered all the fathers at the same time as Hitler Sr.’s death. The boys were guided to live through Hitler’s entire childhood. It was pretty scary.”

“And did it work? Did they get a new Hitler?”

Fidel nods slowly, “Oh, yes. In spades. And that was only one child. I don’t remember how many others were supposed to be spread out all over the world.” He looks to Dwayne, “Imagine the Chief as a criminal. Would his good-self have to sleuth his bad-self? Would you like to go up against that murder case?”

Dwayne puts down his coffee cup with a slam, “Not me!! What about you, Camille? You’ve been very quiet. What do you think about a world with multiple Chiefs? Camille?”

Coming out of thrilling reverie, she sighs, “Oh, I have no opinion one way or the other.” Leaning forward, she mouths, “He can hear us, you know.” Sitting back up, she announces in a normal voice, “Personally, I think one Chief is enough.”

From down the room drifts a quiet snort, “Liar.”

END – Double Trouble


	7. The Secret Life of His Towel

**The Secret Life of His Towel**

It always hung neatly.

It wicked the moisture from his skin, buffed him, tousled him.

It caressed his curves and dipped into the hollows of his body.

It wrapped his trim waist precisely, hugged his contours lovingly, covered him demurely.

It was refolded and rehung.

It fluffed and waited patiently for the next use.

Life was perfect…

Until the day it was torn away, thrown onto the floor, spurned and unwanted.

After a long time, it was picked up, smoothed out, and rehung.

This went on and on and on…

Until one day it was put into a small dark place and then rehung in a new place.

Beside it hung another towel. Thick. Fluffy. Wonderfully scented. Intricately stitched.

When next on the floor, it had company. Entwined. Fibres interlocked. Shared warmth.

Come laundry day, the sheets had quite a story to tell.

End – The Secret Life of His Towel


	8. Were You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A most delicate question is asked.

**Were You?**

She is body surfing him again. All she wants to touch is Richard. All he wants to uphold is Camille. They are almost asleep. His heartbeat is so soothing. She can listen to it for hours. Has done so when he’s asleep, gently climbing atop him, lining up her arms and legs along his, and body surfs to the gentle swell of his breathing. It’s heavenly.

His breathing is slowing. He’s almost gone. Tonight was fireworks again. His stamina seems to be growing, not waning.  A question that has been nagging at her pops into her head once more. Tonight, instead of clamping her teeth down onto her tongue, it slips out.

“Were you a virgin when we met?”

His breath pauses at the acme of her slow ride. She grits her teeth. Stupid!! What a stupid question to ask! If he says yes, he will feel foolish. If he says no, she will feel bitter jealousy and then feel foolish. She puts a finger to his lips, “I’m so sorry. That just slipped out. Don’t answer. Forget I said it.”

He takes her hand in the dark. She feels his smile as he kisses the offending finger, “No. I don’t mind. It’s only right that you know since you’re the one who saved my poor sad life.” He kisses her hand and folds it against his chest. She can feel him thinking. Trying to find the words to let her down easy, maybe? Whatever is coming, she knows it will be the truth.

“Would you think any less of me if I said ‘Yes’?”

Ridiculous joy and hungry possessiveness roars through her. She tries to keep it out of her voice, “No.”

“Strange as it may seem, I did manage to reach the advanced age of 42 in a state of relative purity.”

She can’t help herself, “What is wrong with English women?!! Did no one SEE you?”

“Not like you did. I had several close calls, many crushing rejections, lots of aborted attempts. It just never happened. I’d almost say it was Fate but, of course, I don’t believe in that… Erzuli forgive me for saying so.”

“Erzuli will forgive you anything, dear heart.” The zephyr that wafts through the room is surely a coincidence as is the fragrance of frangipani which is out of season at the moment.

He sighs, “Glad to hear it. I don’t want my bits scattered all over the beach.”

She sighs contentedly, “Me neither. I love your bits. So, I’m the very first.”

“The very first.”

There is a long silence. He waits. He isn’t a great detective for nothing.

“But Richard…”

“Yes?”

Another silence.

“Richard…”

“Still here.”

She blurts it out, “How did you learn to kiss like that? And now do you know all those things that make me crazy? And how did you learn about the pressure points and the tantric…???”

Now his finger is on her lips. She hushes, thrilling.

“A gentleman never reveals his sources but can’t you guess?”

Huffing in mock anger, she grumps, “Lessons??”

He kisses her nose, laughs, “No, love. Books.”

She shoots up so hard she almost falls off him, “BOOKS!! Richard Poole!! How dare you use porn to seduce me into your bed!! You beast! You cad… you… what books?”

His voice is smiling, “Are you done being mad? Going to beat me up?”

“Yes and no. You’ve been beat up enough for one night. But don’t distract me with sex talk. Let’s get back to The Sex Talk. What books?”

“Ever heard of the Karma Sutra?”

“Um, I think so. Isn’t it some old book that no one reads anymore?”

“How old is human sex?”

“Um, millions of years?”

“Why do you think there are so many humans in the world? We’ve been enjoying sex for a long time. It was only natural that people would write down all the good stuff.”

“All of this from just one book?”

“Gracious, no. There’s scores of books about Tantric Sex. Every culture has their own ‘bible’ and I’ve been a busy little boy ever since…”

She senses his hesitation. She kisses his still lips softly, “You can tell me.”

“Ever since I realized I was hopelessly in love with you and wanted to make you mine.”

“And when was that?”

“About 2 seconds after I met you.”

She slaps his shoulder, “Liar! You hated me! You fought me tooth and nail about everything. You insulted me, my Maman, my culture, my wardrobe, my hair, my shoes, my food…”

He folds her into a hug, “Oh, Camille. I did everything and anything I could to make you SEE me! I did it all backwards, of course. Why couldn’t you have just read my mind? I was so afraid I’d lose you. All those blind dates! I thought I would die of jealousy.”

She hushes him. She remembers those bad old days. The desire, the fear, the awfulness of not knowing one way or the other, “Why couldn’t you read MY mind, Mr. Super Detective? I was burning for you. How could you not know?”

“I said I read a lot. I didn’t say I had ESP.”

Settling happily down onto his chest, she strokes him, “Well, you’ve got it now. You know exactly what I need, when I need it, and how often.”

“Mmmmmmmmmm,” he agrees happily and a bit sleepily.

“Richard?”

“Oh, now what? Isn’t it bad enough I had to admit my deepest most shameful secret to you? You want more?”

This time she kisses his nose, “Always. No, but, Richard… have you ever come across any writings about having sex while sleeping?”

“Um…”

“Yes?”

“We already do that.”

“What? When? How?”

“Well, if people can sleep walk and sleep eat then it’s only logical that people can…”

“What? Sleep shag? Well, I guess. But when? How often?”

“Honestly, Camille. I’m asleep! How am I to know?”

“But how do you know?”

“Because I woke up and we were just finishing off… and before you ask, this was about 4 or 5 weeks ago, after the Hertzmann murder. Perhaps the long hours and forced abstinence got the better of us?”

“Was it nice?”

“Very nice.”

“How did we do it?”

She has to dismount briefly so he can demonstrate. She is surprised, “But, we’ve never…”

He helps her back up, holds her in place, “I know. Different parts of our brains are functioning during sleep, delta waves as opposed to alphas.”

“I like that. Delta sex. Think we could try that while awake?”

“Oh, let’s allow sleeping Richard and Camille something special just to themselves. We have all the other disciplines to master.”

“I want to read these books.”

“I thought you might. They’re in the bedside drawer.”

Sleep is stealing over her. His heartbeat is really very soothing, “I’ll start my studies tomorrow.”

Tomorrow

Her eyes are wide and alarmed, “Richard! These books shouldn’t be kept in a drawer! They need to be kept under water! How are half of these positions even possible?”

He blushes, “Adepts are also masters of yoga and other helpful disciplines. It’s a life-long journey.”

She gives him an unsettling look, “Yoga? Like the yoga classes offered in town on Tuesday nights?”

“Camille!” that familiar word scaling up to an indignant note, “Don’t you dare.”

She shrugs nonchalantly then tries to sign them both up later that same day only to find out that he’d done it minutes before over the phone. Maybe he has ESP after all.

EPILOGUE 

Richard never asked Camille about her sexual history. He didn’t want to know and he didn’t care. She is his first and she will be his last. Fate and Erzuli willing.

END – Were You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no information on the matter. My stories differ in opinion. Good little fence-sitter, that's me.


	9. Story #9 - Heaven is What you Make it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A still small voice... and he heard it.

**Heaven is What you Make it**

It is the first time in a long time that Richard has been to church for personal reasons. He’s a bit nervous. C of E attendees tend to be warned away from Catholicism but he’d agreed to go and so he is here.

They come in late and sit at the back for a bit of privacy.

Camille knows people will see them and draw all the right conclusions.

As the service begins, he looks about. A bit ostentatious for his tastes. So many statues and icons. The faint scent of incense is pleasing... the candles too. The stained glass is lovely, washing people in rainbows.

Camille informs him that the statues were all hand-carved by the old man over there. He is going blind now but his son sitting beside him may take up the craft. Time will tell.

Richard is on Camille’s left, Catherine on her right. Camille has her arm through his and talks him through the service. He finds the ritual oddly comforting. The C of E is more sedate but here the parishioners actively participate in the service, supporting the priest in his duties. Affirmation. He likes that… appreciates it in his own life.

The homily is about the sacrifice of service. Many are called by a still small voice but few answer. This makes him think.

He had been called, hadn’t he? He had suffered uncertainty and rejection at the hand of his fellow man. Scorn and ridicule had been his lot but he had persevered and won his way to this place. This island.

Then he’d almost sacrificed his happiness for the job. A still small voice had saved him, “Don’t you love me, even a little?” Seven simple words spoken at dusk on his beach.

Those seven little words had opened his eyes to the truth.

And, now, here he is with the two women who mean the most to him. One gave life to his Love. One is ready to make Life with his love. He feels like he is exactly where he belongs.

The hymns are unfamiliar yet the last piece catches his attention as the poetry sweeps through him,

     ‘O Lord, in my eyes you were gazing,

     Kindly smiling, my name you were saying;

     All I treasured, I have left on the sand there;

     Close to you, I will find other seas.’

He closes his eyes in memory.

Yes.

She’d looked into his eyes and asked that still small question that had rocked him to his heels… and he had left it all; the anxiety, the fear, the hesitation, the sheer desperate loneliness... all of it. Left it there on the beach and taken her hand… and never looked back.

His light tenor soars up with Camille’s low contralto and Catherine’s mellow alto. Their music is beautiful. After the service, many shake his hand. He is approached to join the choir. He tells the old man his craft should not be forgotten and encourages the son to take it up.

He walks home a happy man, a lovely lady on each arm.

END – Heaven is What you Make it


	10. Clothes make the man... run!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wardrobe discussion leads to mayhem.

** Clothes Make the Man… Run! **

The morning after the very first night before, Camille arrives at work demurely dressed.  Dwayne makes a librarian joke.  Fidel asks if she has a job interview.  Richard looks oddly pleased.

Later, in the break room, they have a hushed conversation.

Richard, “Why such a drastic change?”

Camille, “I’ve got my man.  This is all for ‘private viewing only’ now.”

“I appreciate the sentiment but covering up only piques a thinking man’s libido.”

“Glad to hear it.  But I don’t need to get your attention any more, do I?”

“Indeed not.  I am already regretting my ‘Never at Work’ policy.”  He takes a sip of tea.  Thoughtfully, he continues, “Did you know your wardrobe put me off?”

“What?  How?”

“Well, obviously you garnered male attention 24/7.  Most of it young and virile.  I didn’t stand a chance.”

She laughs, “Are you alluding to…?”

“Arrgh!  Don’t remind me!  I wanted to smash his face to a pulp.  The smirking git!!”

“You were jealous?  So soon?”

“I told myself I was just being protective of my team… but it was testosterone fueled rage alright.”

“I wished I’d known.”

“It was too soon.  For me.  I can’t speak for you.”

“If only you’d given the tiniest hint, you would have been spread across my desk in a heartbeat.”

 He swallows faintly, “Just as well, then.”

“Back to my former wardrobe?”

He has to be gently prodded.  He is envisioning papers all over the floor. “Er, right.  It put me off.  Beautiful, confident, deadly dangerous, half-dressed women tend to have that effect on me.”

“So!  Knew many, did you?”

“Only the one but she scared the liver out of me.  I was caught up in a loop of positive-negative feedback.  Stalled in neutral.”

“My clothes scared you off?”

“Sorry.”

“I’m going shopping.  When can we go together?  I need your input.”

They wander back into the common area to check the roster.

That night

He came home to see a fierce little fire on his beach.  Camille is burning a pile of clothes.  He comes to stand beside her.  They watch the flames.

“You didn’t have to do that.  I quite liked that little red number there.”

“Don’t worry, I kept the dresses.  And of course I had to do it!  I looked at myself through your proper English eyes.  I’m 35, not 19!  Besides, they failed miserably.  They called every wolf on the island except the one I was after!  Wrong bait.”

“Really?  You think I’m a wolf?”  He is oddly pleased.

“You don’t see the look on your face when you…”

“Stop right there, please!  Tell me later.  In private.”

She looks up and down the deserted night beach.  This is about as private as you can get without walls.  “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing that wolf out here.  There’s a full moon in 3 days.”

“What!  It would take a miracle to get me…”  He stops. 

Camille is glowing in the silver light of the waxing moon just breaking through the clouds.  He looks from her to the fire to his little house.  A miracle HAS happened! 

He looks back to see a sly speculative look on her face.  He knows that look… and in 3 days he will be back on this beach on some perfectly logical pretext and his pristine hide is going to be sacrificed on the altar of the Sand Gods.  Lord, help him.

She is smiling now, delighted with whatever devious scheme she’s thought up. 

He sighs.  Let it be so.  Life would be so much better without his sand phobia.  Perhaps some intensive therapy is just what he needs.  Perhaps… his imagination stirs… perhaps a chase could be involved?

Yes!  He is sure he can take her down within 100 yards if he takes a straight course instead of avoiding the water.  A straight course to bring down his prey and consume it.

He smiles in turn. 

Events 3 nights from now may not go exactly as she plans. 

Perhaps there is more of the wolf in him than either of them suspected.

He can’t wait to find out.

END – Clothes Made a Man… Run!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing down this collection, starting new one soon.


End file.
